Tribute
by mskiki
Summary: They'd been sleeping together nearly five months before he asked about the tattoo on Daryl's chest. Daryl/Glenn. Contains references to sexual situations.


The first time he noticed it, he was far too lost in need and want to comment. Afterward he was far too tired, and was working too hard to keep the stupid grin off his face, to remember. It wasn't until the second or maybe third time that he actually thought about it, but the moment his hand drifted over the letters and the words started to form, Daryl had done that thing with his tongue that drove away all coherent thought. After a while, Glenn decided that its one of _those_ subjects. The ones you had to wait to bring up; that were just too big for something as fragile as a relationship- if that's what this was- in its early stages.

They'd been sleeping together nearly five months before he asked. He waited until they were lying comfortable in the afterglow, in that rare moment when Daryl looked relaxed and at peace, and then wiggled his hand across the man's chest until just the tip of his pinky sat in the sparse hairs near the name. Slowly, he traced the pad of his finger against the first line of the N, watching from the edge of his gaze. He barely rounded the first corner when Daryl grabbed his wrist, squeezing once, and pulled his hand away. He dragged his lips dryly against Glenn's palm, a heated look overtaking his eyes that promised another romp.

Glenn found some strange sense of defiance welling up in his chest and, despite his body's lurching at fire in Daryl's gaze, he pulled his hand away. "Who's Norman?"

Daryl withdrew back into the quilts that served as their bed, chin tilted up towards the ceiling of the tent so his face was impossible for Glenn to judge. From his position against the man's chest, Glenn felt rather than heard Daryl's sigh. Silence cloaked them for several minutes. Glenn began to feel that distinct awkwardness that always washed over him whenever he spoke out of turn. He started to sit up to apologize, leave, do something to escape the quiet, but Daryl's arm kept tight around his waist. So he laid there, still and silence and awkward until the other broke the silence.

"My grandpa. " Daryl said shortly and threw his free arm over his eyes.

"Your grandpa?" Glenn repeated. He watched Daryl nod stiffly and laid a hand on the older man's arm. "So why your grandpa's name?"

Daryl kept silence for a long moment, eyes still covered and muscles contracting. Glenn knew that the past wasn't something the man liked having brought up on the best of days, but he couldn't help but to push the issue. This is how people got closer, and despite the physical closeness he had shared with Daryl barely half an hour prior, he wanted more. And this was his first step.

"Daryl?"

"You know, Merle was the one who took me on my first hunting trip, but my grandpa showed me how to use a crossbow," Daryl said, suddenly.

"Really?" Glenn sat up, trying to hide his smile.

"Yeah," he confirmed, "He gave me his old one when I was about twelve, let me loose with it during deer season. We went up to this old hunting perch he had, staked out there for hours waiting for something to come by. Didn't seen nothing that whole day. I was pissed about it. 'Least until he set up his beer bottles to let me shoot at."

Glenn took in the tilt of Daryl's mouth as he spoke, the near smile on his lips. "You really liked the guy."

"He did alright by me," Daryl responded quickly.

"Yeah?"

Daryl nodded. "He lived up the road a ways from us, you know? It weren't a very long walk and I'd go there most days. Hang around on weekends. Stuff like that. He'd let me do things around the house for him so I didn't have to go home if I didn't want to."

"Did you not want to a lot?" Glenn asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

"Dad was always off on some bender or with some chick he met at a bar. Merle spent most of his time in juvie. Had to go somewhere when the fridge was empty."

"He took care of you." Glenn found it sad that the job of a parent had fallen back a generation, but knowing what he did of Daryl's family, he was also a little pleased to hear he had someone looking out for him as a kid.

"Like I said, he did alright by me," Daryl replied.

"What happened to him?" Glenn asked, lowering himself back down on Daryl's chest.

"He died the summer before I went to high school."

"I'm sorry," Glenn said. Daryl shrugged against him again, lips pulling into a thin line.

"It was a long time ago."

"Still," he started, "I mean it must have been a big deal for you to have his name on you."

Daryl laughed dryly. "I was drunk when that happened."

"Sounds like the start to most of your stories."

The smart ass reply earned him a light punch to his side and Glenn retaliated, pinching Daryl's forearm. The act set off some spark between them, sending them both into a rough play fight that served as an odd sort of foreplay. Before he knew it, Glenn was pinned on his back and had a tongue shoved halfway down his throat. All thoughts of grandfathers rightfully disappeared as fire reignited in his stomach.

After they had settled again, laying side by side in the dark, Daryl let him lay a hand against the tattoo.

"It was the anniversary of his death, you know. The night I got this," Daryl half-whispered, "Seems like my shit faced mind thought it would have been a good tribute."

Glenn thought it was, but he didn't say so aloud. He leaned up and pressed his lips to the black letters; let his cheek rest there as he tried to sleep. Daryl didn't make him move until morning.


End file.
